


Insecurities and Stale Coffee

by writesupernatural (missjenna)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Body Image, F/M, Now edited so the base name isn't Jenna, thats what I get for having the automated name changer add-on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 17:22:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12258747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjenna/pseuds/writesupernatural
Summary: Prompt: Imagine meeting Dean and thinking you're not good enough for him because you're overweight





	Insecurities and Stale Coffee

         “H-hey there,” you mumble softly as another patron comes through the café’s door. He’s tall... _really tall_ , with thick shoulders and large arms. There’s a question on the end of your tongue, but you nibble your lip too nervous to add anything else to your greeting. _Who are you? What are you doing here?_ Behind you the old grandfather clock chimes the new hour, midnight, and you have to fight back the urge to yawn. You’ve should’ve turned in hours ago, locked the door and gone home and yet here you were, waiting behind the counter, still pouring bowls of chicken noodle soup and mugs of lukewarm coffee for the few hungry stragglers.

     The café sits inside an old building with peeling wallpaper and hard, wooden chairs. No matter where one went within the small cafe there was a constant smell of musk and mildew. Working there for a while, you’d grown used to the scent but you couldn’t help but blush as you see the man's nose wrinkle.  _Shit._ Still, he doesn’t turn nor retreat. Instead he finds a place among the empty tables and sits, pulling a laptop from his bag. You watch as he presses the power and a bright light engulfs him. You can’t help but notice how tired he looks, beneath his eyelids are multiple creases.

            At this time of night, the café is practically empty save the familiar drunk bum at your counter and the young woman (you think a college student?) who’s been nursing a cup of tea whilst reading a battered book and taking notes for the past hour and a hal.

            _And three makes a crowd_ , you think as the new arrival gives a grunt and readjusts himself in the uncomfortable chair. You give a soft sigh, grab a menu, and begin the short walk over to the man’s table when the door opens again and another man races into the cafe, slamming the door behind him.

            “Sam!” the new man shouts, a look of excitement on his face, “Sammy! Wait until you hear this!”

            Not only do both you and the man with the laptop look up, but as does the rest of the cafe. The new man is panting as if he’d just run a mile. You take him in for a moment.

            This new man is much shorter than the former. His eyes are a hard, almond shape with thin eyebrows and an angry grimace across his lips. He’s quite different from the man with the laptop (‘Sam,’ was it?), but you can see similarity in their mannerisms. Lovers? Brothers? You’re unsure.

            “Dean,” Sam hisses, “Dean, calm down.” He doesn’t get up from the seat, but from his tone you can tell he’s cautious. “Come sit here.” He pats the seat beside him.

            Before Dean can answer you find yourself asking if either them would be interested in a drink. It’s stupid, you know and you find yourself blushing as they both turn their attention to you with looks of confusion on their faces. You couldn’t help it. There had been tension and you didn’t handle tension well.

            “Sorry,” you say almost instantly.

            “Don’t be,” responds Sam, “If anything, our apologies for the interruption.”

            “Yeah. Ditto,” Dean replies, “I’ll have a beer.”

            "Black coffee for me." 

            You nod and turn to fetch the drink. When you reach the counter you look back and are surprised to see that the smaller one, Dean, is still watching you. Though every so often he’d glance at Sam (responding to a question or giving a reply), you could see that his gaze would always to return to you. _Have I done something wrong?_

            Nervously, you pull at the buttons of your collared shirt. You hate the shirt. It’s tight around your chest and you feel as though you’re suffocating. The skirts not much better but the uniform hadn’t gone any bigger. Instead of flowing over your hips gracefully, as it had for the other waitresses, it sat uncomfortably on your waistline, one button undone. You’d hoped working would’ve distracted you from eating, but in fact that café had made you take in more. You’d taken the job in hopes of earning enough cash to help pay for your tuition for the following semester, but instead of taking off the stress of finding work, it’d increased your anxiety ten-fold.

            You hated working with the other waitresses. They were so different from you with their long legs and  small waists. They were kind, sure, friendly even. They were good people and you felt bad for the envy that enveloped you whenever they walked by, but you couldn’t help it. Your weight had always been a challenge.

            You give a soft sigh and finish pouring the beer into a glass. Placing the glass and a mug onto a tray you prepare to make your way back to the table, only to again notice that the man, Dean, was looking at you. He has a small smirk on his face and you figure he's think of some kind of insult to whisper under his breath as you walk by.  _He’s not even trying to be subtle_ , you think. It makes you angry. You were always getting rude comments about your weight. It was as if everyone felt they had a right to comment on your body and give you advice on how they thought you could "improve" it.   _I don’t need this right now!_ You’re angry, really angry. In fact, you’re furious. You feel your cheeks burn. You should be curled up at home right now with your books or your video games, de-stressing after a long day of work. Instead you were here waaaaay past your clock-out time getting undressed by some perv's eyes. 

_Hell no!_ Without thinking you stomp over to the table placing the glass in front of the smaller man with an angry clunk.   _I thought I was old enough to be past this. I thought this shit was finally going to be over once I hit college…but it’s only gotten worse._ You slam the mug as well for good measure in case the taller man had been in on the smaller's behavior.

"Whoa!" remarks Dean as coffee from Sam's mug sloshes over the side. "Be careful!"

            “Take a picture it’ll last longer,” you sneer.

            “What?”

            You bite your lip, tasting blood. You try your best to fight back the stream of tears, but they continue to come. “I know you’re making fun of me, okay? I don’t fucking need this tonight. Please just stop,”

            “I think you’re confused…” Sam tries, “We weren’t saying anything like that at all. He was actually trying…”

            “Bullshit,” you snap, cutting him off. You hate how your voice cracks. All attention is on you, the student has dog-eared her book and put away her notes and even the drunk bum has lifted his head from the counter, watching your performance with glazed eyes.

            “I really don’t need this tonight, I’ve been through a lot…I have classes in the morning and a p-paper due…”

            “Hey, hey, calm down,” Dean says. He stands quickly and puts his hands on your shoulders. You’re instantly uncomfortable and try to push him away, but he’s stronger than he looks. He takes your face in his hands, “Look at me.”

            “Dean…” Sam warns, already getting up from his own chair.

            “I’ve got this.” Sam sits again.

            “Let’s take this outside, okay?” Dean asks, and though you know you should say no and you should turn and go back to the counter and forget this happened, you nod. He puts an arm around your shoulder and guides you outside. You can’t help but notice the college student’s open mouth as you pass.

            Once outside you lean with him against the wall. Your tears have subsided though your breathing is still shaky. For a moment, you both stand in silence. You pull a cigarette and lighter from the apron around you waste and light it. You offer one to the man out of politeness, but he declines

You take a long puff. "I'm sorry," you say. "I don't know why I snapped." 

            "Don't be," he replies, "I could never work customer service. People are shit." “What’s your name, kiddo?”

You nod, feeling guilty for your earlier words. You can shake the uncomfortable feeling however of the man's earlier leering look. "Huh?" 

            “Your name? What is it?”

            Quietly you say, “Y/N. Why does it matter?”

            "Dean." He nods his head in greeting. “Just curious.”

            “Hi Dean.”

            “Hey yourself. So Y/N, what’s going on? What happened back there?”

            “What do you mean?” Your cheeks flush at the reminder of your outburst.

            Dean arches an eyebrow and gives you a look that says, you-know-what-I-mean.

            “I-I’ve had a lot of shit g-going on. I didn’t mean to s-snap on you, I’m sorry. I just thought you were going to make fun of me too. You were looking at me kind of funny.”

            He’s silent for a moment and you cast your eyes to the ground, afraid of what he’ll say next.

            “Do people make fun of you?”

            “Yeah.”

            “A lot.”

            You nod.

            “Because of what?”

            You snort, “Isn’t it obvious?  I’m overweight.”

            “You’re serious?”

            You look back up at him. He’s watching you expression intently.

            “Y-yes.”

            Dean groans and smacks a fist against the building. “Kids are so stupid these days,” he chuckles darkly beneath his breath, “Bunch of shitheads.”

            “Excuse me?” you ask.

            “Listen, Y/N, kids are brutal. Dicks. Shitheads. Terrible jerks who don’t give a shit about those around them. Who cares what they think?”

            “I guess I can’t help it.”

            “Do you think you’re overweight?”

            You tug at your shirt, “Uh-huh.”

            Dean shakes his head, “So what? Your cheeks and your legs, your nervous smile when you asked us what we wanted to drink…” he trails off with a soft laugh, “Your waistline isn't important. You’re adorable.” He motions to your skirt and your stockings, “Cute as hell.” You can't believe what you're seeing... now he's blushing!

            “I-I don’t understand?” 

            “I’m sorry if you thought I was making fun of you…” He bites his lip and smiles softly, “That’s not what I was trying to do at all.”

            “Huh?"

            “In fact, you can ask Sam…I was actually asking him if he’d think I could get your number.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [Dec. 2015]


End file.
